


Watching the Tension Grow

by babykid528, thatmysticbafflingwonder (babykid528)



Series: Whamilton Law School AU [4]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angsty Schmoop, Anxiety, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Law School, Light Angst, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Older Man/Younger Man, Scratching, Stress Relief, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-06-01 08:31:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6510631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babykid528/pseuds/babykid528, https://archiveofourown.org/users/babykid528/pseuds/thatmysticbafflingwonder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>One of the first things George told him when they started doing this thing, this relationship (before it really was being called a relationship), was that Alex had free reign to use his home whenever need be. He knew Alex was living with three other roommates, none of them law students, all of them found on some apartment-share site (”Of ill-repute,” George had said), and he knew there would be times when Alex would need space and quiet so he can get through his studies. Like now, when he’s in the process of tackling the grueling task of writing this Civil Procedure final on the floor of George’s attic study.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Watching the Tension Grow

**Author's Note:**

> Anon requested: _Whamilton Law School AU with either head/back scratches OR shoulder rubs OR all thrEE I WOULD DIE_
> 
> Sorry I didn't deliver on all three, but I hope you like the end result anyway.

One of the first things George told him when they started doing this thing, this _relationship_  (before it really was being called a relationship), was that Alex had free reign to use his home whenever need be. He knew Alex was living with three other roommates, none of them law students, all of them found on some apartment-share site ("Of ill-repute,” George had said), and he knew there would be times when Alex would need space and quiet so he can get through his studies. Like now, when he’s in the process of tackling the grueling task of writing this Civil Procedure final on the floor of George’s attic study.

“How’s it going?”

To his credit, Alex only jumps a foot in the air at the sound of George’s voice. To his discredit, George chuckles far louder than he should at the sight of it.

“It’s still going,” Alex says. It comes out sounding an awful lot like a grumble, a truly crotchety one. He scrubs his eyes when he realizes, after blinking for the first time in far too long, that his eyes have gone blurry.

“Where are your reading glasses?” George asks, voice gentler.

Alex sighs. “The glare of the screen was giving me a fucking headache.”

George hums and enters the room. Every step he takes toward Alex somehow manages to set his shot nerves further on edge, like that growing feeling of discomfort you get when a professor insists on using the noisiest dry-erase marker they can find for the entire two-hour lesson. By the time George reaches him and reaches out for him, Alex is shrugging him off and leaning away.

“I have hours left of this,” he snaps. He tightens his fingers on the edges of his laptop until the tips of them go white, and he waits, breath held, for George to retreat and leave him be. George, despite dropping his hand back to his side, doesn’t move though. He doesn’t reply either. He just stands there, close enough to touch, but completely still. Alex can feel his tension boiling over in his chest with every second, turning into something sour and hot in the pit of his stomach.

“ _Just leave me the fuck alone, okay_?” he finally snarls.

George shifts on his feet then, a redistribution of weight from left foot to right, and Alex, in the silence that falls around them after his outburst, cannot bring himself to look up at him.

“I’m going to go make dinner,” George says after a moment, voice remarkably soft and even. Alex can’t help shivering. “I’ll get you when it’s ready.”

He doesn’t wait for a reply before he leaves Alex sitting there. He just turns and Alex watches his feet retreat, eyes still downcast. Even once he’s alone again, he can’t bring himself to look up. 

He turns back to his laptop screen, eyes still blurry. He’s about three paragraphs shy of finishing this stupid essay, but he’s stuck on the end of this question and he’s sure the beginning needs to be entirely restructured. He prides himself on his way with words, but they haven’t been working for him all afternoon. The fact that George walked in on that, on Alex in a moment of abject panic, is not something he could really handle. Hence the growling.

Now, though. Now, he just feels like an asshole. An _exceptionally_   _insecure asshole_.

He sighs, scrubs his face with his hands in an attempt to clear his vision once more, he saves his work to his hard drive and back-up USB again, and he casts his laptop aside. It takes him a moment to get up off the floor, his joints stiff from the lack of movement for so many hours, but he stretches and pops everything back into proper alignment before he gingerly heads down the stairs. True to his word, George is in the kitchen. The radio is softly playing - something modern and jazzy - and he’s furiously julienning bell peppers into thing strips. Alex watches him, apparently unnoticed. He waits for George to finish with his knife work before he clears his throat.

“Hi,” he says.

It’s entirely inadequate. It's the least adequate thing he’s ever said to George, actually, and that includes the first, disastrous time he spoke to him one-on-one, outside of class.

“Hi,” George says. He sounds wary. Or weary. Or both. It makes Alex sigh.

“I’m sorry,” he says on a rush of air. “I shouldn’t have snapped. I didn’t mean to. I just...”

He trails off and George just stares. 

“I feel like a volcano,” he says, breaking the silence again. He rubs at his chest, realizing his breath has been coming quicker since he made it into the kitchen. George must notice too, because he places the knife to the side, wipes his hands on a towel, and steps around the kitchen island toward Alex.

“Come here,” he sighs, opening up his arms. Alex all but falls against his chest as soon as he’s given permission.

“I’m sorry,” Alex mumbles into George’s chest, sucking in the familiar, calming scent of him, as he wills his breathing to slow and his heart to stop pounding.

“It’s okay,” George assures him. “I’ve been there, okay? I get it. I do. It’s okay.”

Alex chokes a little on a half sob, half sigh, and he nuzzles closer to George’s warmth. He’s trembling in George’s arms, full-body trembling, and he’s not sure it’s ever going to stop. George just holds him closer, squeezes him tighter, before scratching his blunt nails in random circular patterns across Alex’s back.

“It’s okay, baby,” he murmurs, lips pressed to Alex’s hair. By the time his scratching fingers find their way up Alex’s back and into Alex’s hair, scritching at his sensitive scalp, Alex’s trembling has decreased to a shiver.

“When is your paper due?” George asks, lips and breath warm against the shell of Alex’s ear now.

“Friday,” Alex sighs. “It’s due Friday.”

“Okay, good.” George nods as he says it. “You can step away for the night and give it a fresh look in the morning.”

Alex, in his gut, wants to protest. He wants to tell George, no, he can’t take a break tonight. He can’t stop staring at that damn train-wreck of a Word Doc for a moment longer than he already has, but he’s not really in any kind of position to argue at the moment. Not when George’s fingers are still in his hair working magic on his scalp.

“Okay,” he says, nodding clumsily against George’s chest before, essentially, pressing his face into his armpit. He can feel George relax against him as he lets out a low hum. 

“Good boy,” he says. And, just like that, Alex’s shivering ends, full stop.

A break may be just what he needs after all.


End file.
